


Take Flight

by SkittlesGal



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alzheimer's Disease, Blood and Gore, Broken Bones, Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Fantastic Racism, Gang Rape, Gang Violence, Genocide, I promise it's actually very happy, I swear these tags make it seem terrible, Insanity, Language, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Murder, Original Character(s), Orphans, Panic Attacks, and fluff, jeanmarco, like daddy Marco, there's cute stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-02-23 01:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2528996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkittlesGal/pseuds/SkittlesGal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where superhuman mental powers are the norm, Marco is still different - and different is dangerous.<br/>On the far side of town, Jean wants Eren to go away so he can stop seeing naked people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bigger Problems (J)

My name is Jean Kirstein, and I wish Eren Jaeger would stop projecting images of fat, naked people into my head on our lunch break.  
You’d think mind reading abilities wouldn’t be so bad, especially when some people are cursed with barely controlled x-ray vision, like Eren, or something totally abnormal like claws that can’t be retracted like one of the people I’ve seen living on the edges of town. And normally, yeah, I’m grateful that my psychic powers are relatively normal and easily controlled. Unless someone wants me looking through the pictures in their heads, I can’t get in without making physical contact with them, which is okay by me. I don’t have much interest in snooping through what other people have seen unless they’re dying in a hospital and someone has to file the police report.  
But on days like today, Jaeger knows I’m exhausted and he’s left his mind wide open and proceeds to look straight through the clothes of the 500 pound man sitting on the other side of the cafeteria. I can’t get what Eren sees out of my head, and he fucking knows it. He swears he’s twenty-seven, but I’d bet my life that he’s no older than twelve.  
I try to ignore it and eat my lunch quickly. Easier said than done when this asshole in my brain is hairy and squishy and… Oh god what is on his stomach? I honestly cannot take it anymore, I’m leaving. I’ll just be hungry later. Eren snorts when I flip him off on the way past, trying to keep it subtle in case there are any supervisors around the hospital cafeteria. Can’t be caught making obscene gestures in my scrubs.  
Christa is waiting for me in the orthopedist’s office when I clock back in. “Your lunch doesn’t end for another half hour, what are you doing here, Jean?”  
There’s a stack of x-rays sitting on my desk for me to look through from this kid who broke his ankle last week; I spread them out to see how it’s healing up. “Punched in early. Levi’s damned slave wouldn’t stop staring through a security guard’s clothes. Mind if I finish my lunch in here?”  
She swept her long blonde hair into a ponytail and frowned at me. “Just don’t let Levi catch you. You know, Eren might be nicer to you if you stopped referring to him as a slave. He’s a physician’s assistant, and we’re all a lot better off here with his help.”  
I’m not about to admit she’s right (even though, as usual, she’s totally correct). “How are you not bothered by the fact that that creep can see us all naked whenever he wants?”  
“Eren is a good kid, and he’s not affected by things like nakedness. He couldn’t control it as a kid, you know, so I suppose if you grow up surrounded by naked people, you stop noticing.”  
I don’t even look up at the x-rays, because I know I won’t be able to glare at her or remain angry at Eren. That’s Christa’s ability – she can calm anyone down, or cheer them up with just a moment of eye contact, and I’m not about to let her ruin my perfectly good bad mood.  
“Jean…” I’ve been working with her long enough to know that she’s straightening her ponytail, leaning over my desk and smiling innocently.  
“Christa, I’m working.” I crane my neck over my paperwork.  
“Come on Jean, don’t be such a grouch. Please, for a friend?” I know better, but I can’t resist. Looking up, I see her dazzling smile, and she bats her eyelashes at me.  
“Will you stop that? You’re a lesbian, might I remind you.”  
Christa’s warm laugh washes over me while she holds my gaze. I can feel my irritation at Eren leaving my body. That’s what she does – replaces frustration with contentment. It’s what makes her so great at working in the emergency room. I’ve seen her calm down patients as the paramedics rush them to surgeries after being shot or hit by cars. “Thank you for the reminder, but I’m not flirting.”  
“Any other man that saw you bat your eyelashes and play with your hair like that would disagree.”  
“And why don’t you disagree, then?” And there’s the question. I swear, Christa gets a kick out of hearing me say it every time, but I’m in a good mood now, so I decide to humor her.  
“Because I’m gay as hell and tragically single. Moving on.” I say, shoving a file at her to give her something to look through, rather than distracting me from my job.  
“I’m telling you, Jean, I know just the boy for you.” She smirks at the face I must have made while she sorts through the papers I passed to her. “He’s the sweetest guy I’ve ever met. Tall, freckled, devilishly handsome, fun to be around, and has a high tolerance for grouches like you.”  
“Not Mark Robot again, Christa.” The truth is, I’m not that upset about being single. There are days I wish I had someone in my life, yeah, but I’ve got a lot of life left, and as for right now, I’m content.  
My blonde coworker laughed. “Marco Bodt.” She said his name like ‘Bot’ so you can see where I’d get confused. I thought it was a simple enough mistake, but she gives me a dirty look between giggles.  
“Besides, he lives on the outskirts, doesn’t he?”  
The laughing stops short. “Jean… I thought you were better than that. They’re not that different, you know that.”  
“No! No, Christa, it’s not like that. I don’t care about why people live on the outskirts, I think it’s stupid that they’re forced there. I admire what you do, honest. But the truth is, I’m not sure it could work out between me and one of them. I know it does for you, and I’m happy for you, but it isn’t for me.”  
She sighs and picks up the file. “I’m sorry you feel that way.” Before I can protest, Christa leaves the office.  
Here’s the thing about the outskirts. The people that live there, they don’t just have mental powers like normal people. Not even some freakish physical abilities like Eren’s girlfriend Mikasa, who can outrun, outfight, and out-work out any athlete on the planet.  
No, on the outskirts of almost every town, live people with some sort of mutations, like a ghetto. Most of the time they’re small. People with fangs (though no taste for blood, as far as I know at least), claws, talon feet… I did find it a little disturbing sometimes. These mutations didn’t start turning up until thirty or forty years ago, and no one really understands why. While I find some mutations unsettling, most people find it flat out disgusting, which is why they’re forced to live in the slums. It’s hard for them to find jobs and good homes where they won’t be judged as they walk through the streets. Once or twice, I’ve seen Christa and her girlfriend Ymir walking through town. Ymir is a tall, freckled woman that would be unsettling even if she didn’t have fangs. The chick’s a freaking bodybuilder, but if she’s good enough for Christa, she can’t be that bad of a person. Regardless, she received dirty looks as she walked through town, as if everyone in Trost wanted to remind her that she didn’t belong there with their eyes.  
It’s wrong, but I never saw it as my fight. Sometimes, there’ve been outers (a sort of slur given to people with those physical mutations) that do well in the world. I’ve even treated some of them. A woman got her leg caught in the subway door. Except it wasn’t a normal leg, it looked more like a bird’s leg made partially of metal. Definitely one of the more bizarre mutations I’ve seen. We couldn’t give her an x-ray, so Eren looked at the break with his special vision and then let me into his head to see his mental scan of her fractured talon.  
There are people like Christa that reach out to them. There’s a movement to get the outers more accepted into society. Last spring, she helped build a house for several of them, Ymir and Mark (Marco? I forget) included. Twice a week, she drives out to see them and brings them leftover food, donation money, hand-me-down clothes, cheap shampoo, and whatever else some of the charities she’s associated with can find for them. Some of them have even been given jobs in the city, mostly as garbage workers or janitors, but it’s a start. She’s even been trying to get Levi, our supervisor, to interview some of them for openings we’ve had lately. Some of them have gotten degrees, mostly online, but there’ve been a few rare success stories of people with glowing skin or snake tongues making it big in the world.  
Not in Trost though. No little southern town is about to let an outer into a public high school, let alone a university. There’s even violence against them, to the point that Christa had this massive bake sale to help them get half way decent security alarms on their shacks that they call home (she even roped me into some all night bake-a-thon where we made over 2,000 pastries for them).  
I really do admire what Christa is doing. But like I said, it’s not my fight. I’m still less than a year out of med school. I have student loans to pay off, a mortgage to pay off, and soon car loans to pay off. And with my weekends dedicated to driving my rusty beater out to see my mom in the Rose Home for the Elderly before Alzheimer’s steals what little sanity she has left, there isn’t time or money for me to get involved in a social movement. Yeah, I totally feel like a piece of shit sometimes, and I’m sometimes disgusted by my own racism, or whatever you’d call it, but I can’t fiscally or emotionally afford to help in this social revolution.  
And if I’m going to be totally honest with myself, I don’t think I’m ready to date an outer as readily as Christa. I can’t imagine any way it might work out.  
And I don’t really have any interest in being set up with Mark(o?).


	2. Sense of Purpose (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reiner needs to put pants on and Bert is totally the mom friend.

My name is Marco Bodt, and I wish that Reiner Braun would put some pants on.  
Things in our bachelor pad on the outskirts had changed drastically in the past few weeks, and it turned into more of a couples’ getaway, plus Marco.  
My troubles started when I came out to my housemates a few months ago. I wasn’t sure how it would go, but neither Bertholdt nor Reiner seemed particularly phased when I told them I was bi over Friday night beers. In fact, they weren’t even surprised. Bert just held out his hand and Reiner shoved a wad of cash into it.  
The blond body builder glared at me. “You just couldn’t come out as pan, could you?! I just lost thirty dollars over the freckled-ass angel’s sexuality.”  
If it were anyone else, I might’ve been pissed, but Bert and Reiner have been my friends since we were kids. We grew up in the outskirts together, played together, and survived because of each other. So if they had bets on my sexuality, I could shrug it off. I think of my fellow outers as brothers. So instead of calling them out on it, I just ruffled my feathers irritably before tucking my massive blue and white wings underneath me, trying to get comfortable in the bar booth.  
Bert shifted nervously, despite having just won himself a handful of greenbacks. He started to turn red, never a good sign. When Bert gets nervous or excited – any emotion that can kick up even a little adrenaline, really – his flesh heats up. I remember when we were all about twelve, living in the slums together, and someone jumped me. We were sharing a sandwich Reiner had gotten (probably illegally) when a skinny old man with clawed hands grabbed my throat and pulled me back against him. “Hand the food over, or he gets it.” That wasn’t really what he said, but being twelve and scared to death, I didn’t really remember what exactly his threat was.  
But anyway, Reiner and Bert panicked and were about to hand the food over, when the taller of the two turned bright red and started steaming. I could almost see heat waves around him. Thinking fast, Reiner shoved him at the man holding me. I flew straight up in the air to avoid the barreling ball of heat that was Bert, hurtling towards us. He stumbled into the outer trying to steal what would probably be our only meal for the day, and they both screamed. Bert screamed because he came in contact with the man’s claws, and the man screamed because Bert’s flesh was hot enough to set his clothes on fire.  
Needless to say, we didn’t have to give up our lunch.  
So when we were sitting in the bar and Berthold started to turn red, Reiner and I were quick to try and calm him down. I wouldn’t dare touch him when he was getting worked up, but Reiner didn’t have a problem with laying a hand on his shoulder. “What’s the matter, Bertie? Talk to us.” He soothed.  
“I am!” Bert mumbled, burying his face in his hands. Steam was starting to rise off his clothes, and I was beginning to worry that the fireproofing spray we put on his clothes wouldn’t hold.  
“You’re what, Bert?” I said, exchanging a nervous glance with Reiner.  
“Pansexual. I am. Um… I’m pansexual.” I barely heard him through his hands.  
“That’s what you’re worried about? Why would we care? Chill out, dude.” Reiner snorted at his own joke. “But seriously, this is awesome. I’m not the only one who likes dick anymore!”  
I just smirked at the two of them and ordered another round for the three of us. At some point during the night, Reiner moved on from beers to shots. After shot number four, Bert and I were planning on dragging him home, though that never worked well. Reiner is basically a rock coated in Kevlar skin, and won’t be moved unless he wants to. Just as I was walking over to get the bartender Ymir to help get him outside, Reiner let out a howl.  
“Hey, Ymir! Another round for my crush here, Bertholdt!” That’s when I gave up and left the bar.  
I have no idea what happened after that. All I know is that the next morning, they were both hung over and naked together in Bert’s bed, and from that day forward, they were a couple.  
That was the start of my problems. Reiner doesn't care about modesty around his boyfriend of three months, and I think he assumes that when I’m reading, I’m totally oblivious to him wandering around the kitchen in nothing but his boxers. I should probably say something, but I don’t want to embarrass him. Moreover, I don’t want to embarrass Bert. His feet tend to burn the hardwood when he’s embarrassed.  
I had prayed that he’d get dressed when Christa showed up with groceries, but no such luck. She squeaked when she saw him, making a point of looking everywhere but at him. “I… Hey, Marco, I brought this week’s food. How’s the job hunt going?”  
I huff and bury my face in the newspaper to answer. I've been searching for a job in Trost for a while, but if I’m being honest with myself, it’s dangerous to even walk through town with two massive angel-esque wings sticking out of my back. In the Outskirts, we have a sort of town set up, with jobs and homes and bars, but everything is in a constant state of disrepair and I’m pretty sure Ymir brews her specialty beers in toilets. “Seven pages of classifieds, but when I walk in, no one is hiring.” Tossing the paper aside, I go to help her put our food away.  
“The hospital is looking for a gopher. I could always put in a word for you.”  
“Christa, don’t give him false hope.” Reiner chides, causing us both to jump. For someone so large, he’s eerily quiet moving around our creaky house. “The hospital is right in the middle of the city, he’d be dead in a week.”  
I try not to get pissed. Bert has always been the one focused on keeping us alive while Reiner and I bummed around. I know he’s probably right, but I don’t want to be forced to live this life because of what I am. Reiner used to be that way too, with no sense of purpose, until he finally got together with our self-appointed guardian.  
What I wouldn’t give for a sense of purpose. Someone to love or protect, some place where I could put my wings to use.  
Reiner wraps his arms around his boyfriend. He doesn't know how loud he is when he mumbles, but Bert met my eyes and knew I heard him, and he knew exactly why I pushed past Christa and left. “Bert, you know Marco is a dreamer. Always has been. Let him think it over, he’ll see. Don’t get yourself worked up over him.”  
I ignore Christa running after me, probably about to apologize or something. I just space to think. With my blood boiling as it is, it takes a while to register that Christa – who never shuts up when she’s got her mind set on something – has suddenly gone silent. It takes even longer to register that what I just heard a few blocks away were gunshots.


	3. Freckled Angel (J)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean and Marco meet for the first time, and Jean doesn't make a great first impression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for how late this chapter is! I swear I meant to have it up in March, but mental health and writers block got in the way. However, I'll be done with school on Tuesday, which will free up way more writing time, and I promise to start updating at least once a month.  
> Thank you SO MUCH for all the positive feedback on the last chapter, it means the world to me!  
> I know a few people followed me and/or messaged me on my tumblr, however, I had to delete it due to some unforeseen circumstances. So I'm now at a brand new blog, levibrat.tumblr.com. I'll have some headcanons and other things posted there soon!

                I’m clocking out when Christa calls me.  I figure I should start apologizing before she has the chance to demand it from me.  “Hey, Christa, I’m so sorry.  I’ll buy you dinner, and give you my Netflix password for the rest of the month-” I’m cut off by a bang on the other end of the line, and a scream.  Oh shit, it’s Tuesday.  She brings groceries to her friends in the outskirts on Tuesdays.  “Christa?!  What the hell was that, are you okay?”

                “I’m fine, I’m still in the outskirts.  Get an operation room ready and grab Erwin if he’s not busy, I’m bringing in a child with at least two gunshot wounds.”

                “Where?  Christa, what the hell is going on-“

                “Four or five years old, I’m guessing.  Left wing, there’s a bullet wound...  Just do it, Jean, please!  We don’t have time for an ambulance!”  She probably doesn’t hear the rest of my questions and protests, and her voice sounds farther away when I hear it again.  “Marco, over here, take him to the hospital…”

                “Christa, whatever is going on, you get out of the outskirts right now.  It’s not fucking safe there, get out now!”  I pray she hears me as I tear back upstairs to the doctors’ break room.  “Erwin, Christa’s coming in with someone, a kid I think. Come on!”

                I don’t wait for Erwin to follow me, instead barreling into the operating room to set things up, working on auto pilot.  The sound of a gunshot and Christa’s panicked voice echoes through my mind as I work.  Erwin comes in shortly, which is my cue to wait by the emergency entrance for Christa and whatever shit storm is coming with her.  The big entrance room usually used for patients brought in via ambulance is brightly lit, with stretchers and bags for drugs lining the walls.  The front of the building is a cement wall, but overhead are several skylights letting in the pinkish light from outside.  Despite that, harsh white lights are always on, ruining any comfort I might have found in the light of dusk.

                It takes a minute for me to register that my phone is buzzing in my pocket again.  I’m about to ignore the call without a thought before I see Christa’s grin on the screen.  “What the hell is going on, where the _fuck_ are you Christa, please tell me you’re okay.”

                My best friend lets out a strangled sob.  “Hasn’t Marco shown up yet?”  What.  What?

                “Christa.  Are.  You.  Fucking.  Safe?”

                “I’m fine, I’m with Ymir, don’t worry about me.  Marco should’ve been there by now, he’s fast, he was bringing…”  I don’t hear the rest of what she says, because one of the skylights over my head shatters, and I barely manage to dodge out of the way before I get covered in shards of glass, blood, and… Feathers?  Sure enough, brown feathers mingle with the bloodstained glass pieces across the floor of the emergency room.  Before I can take it all in, more feathers fall through the ceiling, attached to a tall body.  The figure turns around to reveal a gorgeous face full of freckles and dark fucking _eyes_ and I really need to get my head on straight, come _on_ Kirstein!  Someone might be dying.

                “Christa, I’ll call you back.  An angel just fell through the hospital window.”  As I’m hanging up, I realize what an idiot I’m being.  I’ve just never seen anyone like… Like the guy standing in front of me.  I don’t know what else to call him.  Obviously he’s an outer, but he doesn’t look like one.  Normally they seem menacing, like they hate the world and are looking to pick a fight, and I’m content to keep my head down on the odd chance that I pass one on the street.  The outer – the man – in front of me is tall and tan, with worry lines across his face, and long, beautiful brown wings like an owl arching from his back beautifully.  Even under his t-shirt, I can see his toned muscles, which I appreciate – as a medical professional, who approves of a fit body, obviously.

                I hope I wasn’t staring at him dazed for long before I realize the kid in his arms.  A small child, trembling, barely visible, half hidden behind the man’s wing, or a pile of feathers, I can’t tell at the rate everything just started happening.  “He got shot about two minutes ago, it’s bleeding a lot.  I think Christa called, she worked here-”

                The word ‘shot’ snaps me out of it, and I’m back on autopilot.  “Limb or body wound?”

                “Um… It’s not actually-” I interrupt him again.

                “Limb or body wound?  I need to know if we have to strap him to a stretcher, now!”

                The freckled angel hesitates then answers, although I’m not sure why it’s such a hard question to figure out.  “Limb, he doesn’t need a stretcher.  I’ve got him, just show me where to go.”  I don’t wait to see if he follows, I can hear his feet pounding behind me.  I yank the door to the operating room open and let Erwin direct him to set the kid down.  Erwin doesn’t seem incredibly surprised by the outer’s appearance, but then, Erwin isn’t fazed by a lot of things.  His (pretty substantial) eyebrows don’t shoot up until he looks at the kid.  I’m too busy setting up equipment for the surgery to look at the kid who is starting to whimper and groan, obviously in shock.

                “This your kid?”  Erwin asks the outer.

                “No, never seen him before today.  He was in an alley, some stupid kids were messing around with guns, didn’t even see him when he got shot in the wing.”

                Oh _hell_ no.  I glance at the child lying on the operating table as Erwin gives him some drugs to keep him out during the surgery.  Sure enough, he has downy brown wings that look soft like a baby duck.  Unlike the outer, he has long tail feathers too.  While the adult outer’s wings resemble an owl or an angel from an old painting, the kid looks more like a hawk.  One wing is curled up at a strange angle, sticky with blood, and Erwin moves him onto his back with an almost inhuman precision and tries to stretch it out.

                The outer shouts before Erwin can do much.  “Wait!  Um… The bones in wings are really delicate, like a bird’s, not a human’s.  They break easily, that might make it worse.”

                I feel bad for him, considering the look Erwin gives him.  Nobody tells Erwin how to do his job, or the relatively nice guy might scalp someone.  Or something violent.  “Out.  Now.”

                “But this child-”

                “Isn’t even yours.  Get out of my operating room so I can work.”  Obviously that is enough to send the freckled angel out, as he turns on his heel and leaves, but not without a nervous glance over his shoulder at the drugged up kid with a bullet hole through the top of one of his wings.

                Erwin has one of his assistants come in, Petra, who is more suited for the job than I am.  He has me hang around in case he “needs my expertise.”  I’m good with bones, but I know nothing about birds, and I know Erwin knows that.  Still, I can do my best to guess.

                After a while, Erwin sighs and straightens up.

                “Kid’ll live, the bleeding stopped.  But I can’t get his wing straightened out, I have no idea what’s wrong with it.”  Erwin looks to me expectantly, and my audible groan must be enough of a sign to his short redheaded as to what the plan of action is, because she coms Eren down to the emergency room.  He gives me a quick grin even as he pulls a mask over his nose and mouth entering the room, then turns to Erwin.

                “Woah, that’s new.  We’re treating outers now?”

                “Shove the prejudiced garbage, Eren, Jean needs to see the bones in his wing all along here.”  Petra’s tone shouldn’t surprise me, since she’s often seen in the lunchroom with Christa, passionately debating the injustice of the Outskirts, but it’s still a shock, hearing the normally soft-spoken woman snapping at Eren.  Then again, everyone snaps at Eren around the hospital at some point or another.

                He shrugs Petra’s venom off and gestures to the kid passed out on the table.  “’S not prejudiced, we’ve never had an outer here before.  Just calling them as I see them.”  Eren bends over him while I feel his wing carefully.

                “I think there’s a sprain or… Or something here.  I can’t tell.”  I look to Eren, while Eren focuses at the area I’m feeling with my gloved hands.  I can see the bones and muscles in the damaged wing through Eren’s mind, and I honestly have no idea what we're looking at.

**Author's Note:**

> Odd chapters will be from Jean's POV, evens for Marco.  
> Title was inspired by Lindsey Stirling's song Take Flight.


End file.
